Helpless (Hopeless) Mess
by Tangledupandsideways
Summary: She's always been great at the cleaning up. She's not even sure she knows any way else. Inspired by Canary's Song and Dirty Loyal, Gillian-centric


She cleans up after her father, picking up the empty bottles strewn across the living room. She counts them, judging how far down the rabbit hole he'd gone the previous night, how much time it would take for him to climb his way back up. It's a cycle with him; repent and repeat. He would just keep telling her he was sorry, that he would do better, but days, weeks, months would go by and he'd be just where he'd been before. She'd believed him in the beginning, and it would hurt as she watched him betray her over again. She would fight back her tears as she put away empty bottles, taking quick breaths to keep the smell from permeating her hopes that this would all be better one day. But, she is naïve at the time. She believes in the good of everyone, even those who hurt her. She believes in the good of her father, especially when he'd apologise to her, his voice strained with shame. Genuinity? She thinks she feels it, but she is wrong. She is always wrong when it comes to him, isn't she?

But, it doesn't matter. He is her father. And even though it sometimes feels like a knife between her ribs, she would always pick up after him. She just knows that nobody else would do it.

* * *

Her love for Sophie is all-encompassing. She looks at the little girl that is finally _hers_ and she can't help but feel a rush of happiness, of pride, of such immense appreciation for the gift she has recieved. She was always taught how rude it was to give something and take it away. She just never expects it would happen to her. She especially doesn't expect to understand through all of her despsair, her rage, her loss. But she does and she might have even done the same if she had ever been put in the position. So, she refuses to lash out at those around her, refuses to let the horrible feelings of grief consume her, refuses to clean up the mess that was made of her heart. At least for a while.

But soon the hurt becomes too sharp, keeps her from helping her husband deal with his own, keeps her from going through the motions he had expected her to, _needs_ her to. And God knows, there is nothing in the world Gillian needs more than to feel needed, especially in such a helpless (hopeless) situation.

So she sits on the nursery floor, blinking back her tears furiously (angry only at herself), and folds Sophie's little clothes to pack away in boxes. She organises and tidies and cleans the room until nothing remains of her daughter except her smell beneath the biting citrus of the cleaning products and the pain in Gillian's heart. She'll fix that up, next; swallow down some alcohol to clean her wounds and stick that Band-aid smile right over it. No one ever said she always cleaned in the traditional way.

* * *

It's more difficult with Alec because her love for him isn't tainted with obligation, with the biological imperative to look after your kin. She doesn't _have_ to love him and she _definitely_ doesn't have to stay. But she cleans up after him, too, because that was her promise, her vow, and Gillian Foster has _never_ broken a promise.

She fakes a smile as he comes in late, apologising for working late, but she can see the red under his nose, the tremors of his hands.

"It's alright. You're here now," she says.

And she gives him pause to press open palms against his chest before initiating a hug, discreetly brushing the remnant white powder from the lapel of his business suit. She swallows hard around the lump in her throat, trying desperately to keep down the feelings that rise with the bile in her throat. Oddly enough, the feeling's no better in the pit of her stomach.

She can't clean up the mess in him, she can only refine the surface. But, it's not enough. She needs to do more. So, he introduces him to a friend of hers, Christine Tackett, because maybe she could do what Gillian couldn't. She was a sponsor and had agreed to do Gillian the favour of becoming Alec's.

Alec hadn't even realised, but she had done more than attempt to clean up his mess. She'd tried to prevent another from happening. With Christine being a friend, he could propose a reason for the visits that had nothing to do with powdery and illegal substances. With Christine being his sponsor, his political career wasn't ever put at risk. Gillian had made him appear cleaner than he ever knew how to be (cleaner than even she).

It really, really shouldn't have been a surprise that he eventually made a mess so disastrous that even Gillian couldn't clean it up.

* * *

It takes a lot out of Gillian to clean up after Cal because each time it's something different, each time she has to take a different approach to the job. It doesn't help that each mess feels like a personal failure, like she wasn't enough to keep him with her and safe, like her love wasn't enough to make him stay (and she _knows_ it makes him hesitate just the slightest). And it isn't. Her love is merely one truth, but he's set out to uncover them all. He's set out to solve all the problems in the world, completely oblivious to the many in Gillian, the woman meant to be his best friend.

But still, he makes mess after mess and she picks up the pieces behind him like an obedient, hopelessly (helplessly) loyal puppy. He doesn't realise that she's _exhausted,_ just tired of it all.

And the worst of it is that Cal doesn't just expect him to fix the problems he causes in his desperate endeavour to save the world (or at least what he knows of it), but he also expects her to put _him_ back together, to fix him inside. And, it's a difficult job. He can be hot and cold, he can be a complete grump, he can be ruthless and throwing insults, drunken slurs, his own hurt right at her as if it's target practice. But she does have a giant bull's-eye on her back. And she doesn't know how to leave him to wallow in the destruction he causes when she loves him enough to embrace that destruction herself. And it _is_ slowly destroying her (her back feels on fire with these thousand bleeding slashes).

She never asks anything in return, never even expects his gratitude. All she knows is that he'll do it again and she'll be there waiting, broom in hand and heart on her sleeve.

Even though he can see it, she wont tell him that she loves him because it would only make a mess of him, one she wasn't really sure he'd let her clean up. But her hands would itch to put things in their rightful place (it's become a compulsion, really), even though Cal might have a different idea of where that might be. And she couldn't let him do that to himself, to her, to _them._ If he let her love him, if she felt love back, fixing his mistakes might drain the life right out of her eyes.

* * *

Sometimes, it's all different and she lives for those moments, for the times when she can lay down her array of cleaning supplies, take the load off her shoulders, and for just a minute let herself look at her own mess. These times are so elusively exquisite because for just a moment or two, he forgets it's in his nature to make mess rather than clean it and he'll put his hand on her or draw her into his arms and let her cry and fall apart and generally be a mess. And he'll clean it all up for her the best he knows how. He'll wipe the tears from her face, let her adjust her clothing (even if it's not askew, it rarely ever is), and never ever look at her like she is acting alien-foreign and ridiculous. He just cleans up and even though it's not perfect, sometimes it's enough.

And then there are moments when she feels his gratitude. It always feels like it brushes some of the dust from her heart. One day, it'll be clean and pure and _enough_ again (to love the way you're supposed to).

 _"Thank you, Gillian, for cleaning up my mess," he says_.

It hurts for only a minute before she feels cleansed, like she could do it all again over and over. And beyond the gratitude, she can hear the love and allows herself the tiniest of hopes. One day, she'll be not only what he needs, but also what he wants. One day, he'll give to her as much (more, infinitely more) as he takes away.

She smiles, so widely that he can't see the remnants of sadness lurking in her expression, distorting her pleasantly (happily?) raised vocal pitch.

"It's what I'm good at."


End file.
